


let us possess one world

by vowelinthug



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Past Child Abuse, Praise Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-04
Updated: 2016-07-04
Packaged: 2018-07-20 03:00:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7387909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vowelinthug/pseuds/vowelinthug
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They return to Nassau after their defeat of the British Navy, only to be met by Agitator Billy and his propaganda machine. This is why Captain Flint tries not to let other people decide things.</p><p>In which: Flint wears a disguise, Silver tells a terrible story, one bathes the other, and only one man died the whole night which is, like, definitely a record for them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	let us possess one world

* * *

 

They'd sent a scout ahead, so Billy was waiting for them on the shore a few miles south of Nassau. He looked grim and pissed to see them. What else was new.

Silver helped himself out of the long boat and tried not to feel too pleased with himself. Doing what every other man there could do in double the amount of time was nothing to feel happy about. He approached Billy a step behind the other landing party, and even though no one was looking at him he tried not to sink so obviously into the sand.

"What do you look so fucking miserable about?" Flint asked Billy. His spirits were still relatively high. For Flint that meant he hadn't made any of the newer crew members shit themselves for at least a week.

"We have something to discuss," said Billy, and he found Silver as he made his way forward. "And I don't honestly know how either of you are going to like it."

Then he looked Silver right in the eyes and said, "But thank god you aren't dead."

"Oh shit," said Silver, alarmed. "What the fuck's happened now?"

\----

Silver had never been in Flint's home on New Providence Island, and if it weren't for the fact that Flint called it his home Silver would never have believed it. It was domestic. There were _doilies._ While he knew Miranda Barlow was most likely responsible for the decor, it still refused to line up in Silver's mind. Picturing Flint living here, relaxed and content.

Currently, Flint was not relaxed and content. Currently, he was tense and unhappy.

Silver recognized this in his captain as it was a reflection of his own feelings, along with a healthy measure of confusion and exhaustion. His leg ached. They had sailed back to Nassau with the intent of lying low for a couple days, observing how news of their victory was affecting life on the island, and figure out how to proceed. Silver knew it was only a matter of time before this war of theirs was being fought on their homeland, and even if they had more of an advantage here where they were more familiar with the terrain unlike Maroon Island, it still felt daunting to undertake. At Silver’s insistence, surveilling the Governor, his men, and the former pirates of Nassau seemed the best way to know exactly how to proceed. It only took minimal amount of convincing (half a day, which was nothing comparatively) for Flint to agree.

Silver knew he didn’t want to admit it, but he thought Flint was glad for the moment of rest.

"So you've committed a series of violent murders," Flint was saying now, through clenched teeth, "and publicly blamed them on your Quartermaster."

Billy’s arms were folded. “Yes,” he said.

Flint exhaled heavily. “ _Why_.”

Billy was probably the only person on God’s green Earth to be unmoved by that tone. The man was a mountain. “You left us here to try and save Vane. That didn’t exactly go as planned.”

Good grief. Starting this story off with how Billy’d failed to do the one thing Flint asked him to do was not the route Silver would have gone. Silver would have probably started with something like, “fantastic job beating back the Royal Navy” or  “wow that coat looks great on you, Captain”.

It was just the three of them sitting in the parlor of Flint’s home, having sent the other few crew members to quietly gather supplies. Night had just fallen. Silver was lighting candles and letting the conversation happen around him. He’d learned many years ago - sometimes you learn more by asking questions, and sometimes you get everything you need by listening to what everyone else was saying.

“Vane started something before he died,” Billy continued. “His speech. He wasn’t quite the orator you or Silver are, but it was effective. People were unsettled, and not too pleased with the Governor or Eleanor Guthrie. We figured if we weren’t able to join you in the fight, we could continue what Vane started, so when you returned, hopefully victorious, it wouldn’t be all enemies waiting for you back home.”

“Just,” said Silver, “ _mostly_ enemies.”

Billy sighed. “Agitating doesn’t happen overnight, you know. We sent out some black spots to prominent pardoned pirates, they keep ignoring them, so we had to follow through.”

“Can you, pretty fucking please, get to the part where Silver is to blame for all of this?”

Silver couldn’t help the smile on his face, glad Flint couldn’t see it as he turned to  light another candle. He was thankful for the Captain’s rage. He felt free to not feel it so strongly. He was reasonably confident, now, that Flint could speak for him. They didn't always see eye to eye on every subject, but when someone else was being a fucking idiot in their presence their opinions usually aligned.

“People were still talking about what Silver did,” said Billy. “Dufresne. It was a story that was being told on it’s own, although the details have changed over the last few weeks. I heard the other night that you removed Dufresne’s head with your iron leg and were keeping it on your mantle.”

Silver snorted and said nothing. He hadn’t liked Dufresne’s face while it was still attached to his body, and he sure as shit wouldn’t want to stare at it every day forever. Besides, he didn’t even have a mantle. _Flint_ , apparently, had a mantle.

“Why not take the credit for your own crimes?” Flint snarled. He was standing in front of the fireplace, his hands curled into fist. His face was almost completely obscured by shadow, and with the fire behind him he looked every bit like the devil. Silver knew he was definitely doing it on purpose.

“No one knows who I am,” said Billy. “And more importantly, no one cares who I am. It seemed natural, is all, to fan the flames of his own legend.”

“Why not the Captain?” Silver said, because he knew Flint wouldn’t ask. “Why not invoke his name for these deeds? People already fear him.”

Billy rubbed his forehead tiredly. This was clearly the question he’d been hoping to avoid, and Silver was pleased as fucking punch to have gotten to ask it.

“With Vane gone, I thought we needed a second Most Fearsome Pirate wandering around. You’re only one man, Captain, and even though it seems unlikely at this point in time, you aren’t actually immortal. You can’t be everywhere at once, and if something were to ever finally happen to you, we’d be left without a figurehead.” Billy stopped, and then said quickly, “And to be honest, Captain, public opinion of you changes depending on which way the wind blows. Some days you’re feared and respected, other days everyone is lining up for a chance to murder you.”

There was a pause, and then Flint quietly said, “What exactly are you trying to say, Bones?”

“I think he’s saying,” said Silver, “that you’re not exactly a people-person.”

Another pause, slightly longer, and then a snort. “Good. That was exactly the impression I was going for.”

Billy started to relax in his chair, clearly thinking the interrogation was over.

“Before you get too comfortable,” Silver said, walking towards him, “would you care to go over one more time why I have to go out and commit my own wanton act of senseless violence in front of all of Nassau when there's currently a warrant out for my arrest, and, while you’re at it, explain to me why you won’t be my next victim?”

\----

They rode horses to the tavern. Their approach was neither slowed nor hurried. The horses’ hooves silently trotted through the soft dirt beside the river, and every so often the far-off light from Nassau glimmered faintly through the trees. They moved like shadows. It did wonders to improve Silver’s mood.

Flint had insisted on joining them, despite being wanted not just by the authorities on New Providence Island, but personally sought after by the Governor and the whole Royal Navy.

“I’ll wear a disguise,” he’d said. Apparently, being there when Silver put on his show was important enough to warrant sending out one of the men to the brothel and bring back the most masculine-looking wig and hat, but Flint refused to say why. Silver was just glad the moon wasn’t full enough to get a good view of his Captain, or else he feared he’d never be able to look him in the eye again.

He supposed it was effective. No one would be looking for the Dread Captain Flint wearing a whore’s wig. He wore his turban around it, ready to cover most of his face, but thick black curls still hung out at all angles. Should he die tonight, Silver was grateful in the knowledge that though he would have appreciated a kinder God looking down on them, at least there was one with a sense of humor, to grant him such an image.

Flint pulled his horse up next to him. Silver glanced at him momentarily before keeping his eyes forward. He had never been a good rider, and in the dark, post-rain, minus-leg, he didn’t trust his skills any more.

"You don't have to do this," Flint said quietly. "We can think of another plan to get the men on our side."

“Most of this battle will be fought on land, not sea. We need all the help we can get.” Silver smiled, to himself at least. "I said I was willing to join you in the dark, did I not?”

"You didn't choose this path, but I did," Flint insisted. "Every decision I made to get me here was one of my own making."

"Not every decision," Silver said softly. "Some things were taken out of your hands."

Flint took a moment to respond, and when he did he voice was gruff. "I chose how to respond to them, then."

"Then that's what I'm doing," said Silver, "and some things really are inevitable."

Silver felt Flint turn to look at him. He kept his eyes forward. “How do you mean?”

“True, there are always choices,” said Silver, “but some choices aren’t really choices at all, are they?”

Flint didn’t answer. In the distance, over the ocean, a lightning storm was brewing. The air crackled with it, and the humidity made the air feel tangible, thick.

This wasn't Silver's war. He didn't create it, and was never asked to be a part of it, but. Silver had a tendency to let things go unfinished. And unlike most men his age, it wasn't adventure his heart yearned for. It was a place to settle. To find his own contentment. And he may not have believed completely in Captain Flint's dreams of an in independent Nassau, he did believe that it's potential success was the only clear way to get some damned peace.

“Can I ask,” said Flint, “what it is you’re planning to do tonight?”

The man they were going to see, the man who’s evening was about to get dramatically worse the closer they got to Nassau, was a Captain Samuel Lynch. Not the most prominent sea captain, to be sure. Not as old as Hornigold, but seasoned enough to have some modicum of respect from the inhabitants of Nassau. When he’d been a pirate, before the pardons, he typically hunted heavily insured vessels - ones that promised little to no resistance. His hauls were good, but not great. He’d been one of the first to accept Rogers’ pardon.

Recently, he’d been using the unrestful town to lead his own campaign against Flint, most likely funded by the Governor, most likely at the suggestion of Eleanor Guthrie. He was telling anyone who’d listen tall tales about besting Captain Flint to huge plunder, to outwitting him in a deal over a mutually captured ship, to once even beating him in a duel. He told everyone that the talk of Flint’s fearsomeness was just that, talk - perpetuated by half a man and a crew he’d betrayed more times that a cock crows in a given day.

When Billy’d told them Captain Lynch’s name, the blank look on Flint’s face told them suggested that he wasn’t even sure they’d met. If he had, it wasn’t a very memorable experience. They’d sent him a Black Spot two days prior.

“Well whatever I do,” Silver said now, “I shan’t be stomping on anyone’s face. Don’t want to be accused of being a one-trick pony.”

“I never got the impression that you were too keen on violence," Flint admitted. "You seemed to go out of your way to avoid fights."

"Yes, because I'm a sane and smart man." _Unlike some_ didn't need to be said. “Truthfully, no. Violence is not generally my first solution to a problem. Generally, sweet talk and my winning smile have done wonders to get the outcome I preferred.”

Silver didn’t need a drop of light to see Flint’s full-body eye-roll.

“Actually, if we’re being honest,” said Silver, suddenly, without thought, “and seeing as you’ve donned that wig for the sake of my safety I believe you’ve earned it — in my life I’ve both fought and loved plenty, sometimes with the same partner in fact, and the one that felt better depended entirely on whom I was doing it _with_ , so to speak.”

A weighted pause. They were on the outskirts of town. Noise from the tavern was audible even from here.

Silver pulled his horse to a stop, and Flint did the same. They were now half bathed in orange glow, half still enshrouded by night. “I’ve been many people in my lifetime, Captain Flint. Long John Silver is merely the most recent.”

“Hmm,” said Flint. “Perhaps you are the stuff of legend after all.”

\----

Silver stood at the doorway, listening.

“--and I said to him, look Flint, at least I’m leaving you all the blankets. I hear the temperature’s gonna drop tonight, and you can use them to cozy up to that dancing fucking monkey of yours. ‘Course, he only provides half the warmth of a normal man, but --” Raucous laughter drowned out the rest.

He turned to look at Billy, the men, and Flint waiting to follow him in. Lynch was loud enough they all heard, and they all looked suitably pissed. Silver smiled at them, nodded once, and walked inside.

Lynch’s men were spread throughout the tavern, some with a whore on their arm or in their lap. Lynch sat at a table, gesturing grandly with a tankard of ale, a freshly-lit cigar hanging limping in his other hand. He was laughing at his own joke, and didn’t notice Silver.

Silver decided in that moment that he was not going to kill this man.

He waited for the laughter to quiet before saying loudly, “Are we gossiping?”

Lynch, still chuckling, looked vaguely in his direction. “Who the fuck wants to kn--”

Silver interrupted by stepped further into the tavern. He let his iron leg drag and landed it with a heavy thump on the wooden floor.

The room froze. Silver kept walking towards the captain, and the rest of his men file in behind him, take their planned positions near the roughest looking men. He made sure not to follow Flint, but the knowledge that he was there made Silver feel...something. Safe? Whatever it was, he wasn’t sure he liked it.

Silver walked to the man’s table, and let him see his face.

“My name is John Silver,” he said. “The dancing fucking monkey.”

No one spoke. Lynch leaned back in his chair and brought the cigar to his lips. “Aye,” he said. “Has Captain Flint finally returned from his great battle? Tail firmly between his legs, I’m sure.”

Some nervous laughter, nothing like the kind that filled the tavern before they’d entered. Billy gave him a look from across the room, one hand resting on his cutlass. The look said, _please hurry this up so we can get the hell out of here before the British arrive and we all end up in a noose._

Fuck Billy. If he did this right, right now, he might not have to do it again. He’ll show them a dancing fucking monkey.

“Captain Flint _has_ returned. The Royal Navy, you may notice, has not.” Silver let that sink in for a moment. “And -- I’m sorry. I’m afraid I didn’t catch your name.”

Lynch looked like he’d swallowed dirt. “I am Captain Samuel Lynch, of the _Stalwart_.”

“Lynch. _Lynch_. Now that name does strike me as familiar.”

“I personally was respon--”

“Oh, that’s right. You were the thirteenth name written down in the Governor’s pardon rolls.”

Lynch’s jaw snapped shut. His cigar ashed into his lap, but he didn’t notice. His eyes were fixed on Silver, who slowly approached.

“Terribly unlucky number, thirteen,” said Silver, looking around the room idly. He spun a little on his heel, putting Lynch right in the corner of his eye. “The thirteenth snivelling, pathetic, shit-stained motherfucker to put his name down for a Royal assfucking by the good Governor. Tell me, are you experiencing any discomfort sitting there while your former brothers fought for their freedom?”

“Now you listen to me, you little shit, I--” Lynch started to rise.

“ _Sit_ ,” Silver growled, doing his best Captain Flint voice, and Lynch. _Sat_. Silver tried not marvel too obviously at the rush of power that filled him. Tried not to grin too stupidly at the sudden giddiness that came with instilling such fear in a lesser person. Christ, is this how kings felt all the time? Flint? How did anyone get any work done?

He turned to address the other men, now, suitably dismissing Lynch for the time being and hiding his joy from the man.

“The battle was won this week, but the war is not yet over. Not as long as Governor Rogers and his armies sit fat and happy on this island. Captain Flint is offering you an opportunity. A pardon, if you will, from your pardons. There will only be more bloodshed in the days to come, gentlemen. Captain Flint is giving you a choice. Fight alongside him, and your brothers, to reclaim your home, or perish as cannon fodder for the men on the hill.”

“Bullshit,” said Lynch from behind, and Silver faced him. “Flint is a tyrannical lunatic who just want--”

“Have you ever been to Bristol, Captain Lynch?” Silver asked.

“What?”

“You remind me of a man I once knew in Bristol.” Silver approached the table again. “When I was a boy.”

Lynch said nothing, and seemed paralyzed by Silver’s sudden proximity. The cigar smell was strong, familiar, just this side of nauseating. Silver plucked it easily from Lynch’s fingers and inhaled deeply. The taste on his tongue made him feel angry, afraid, dangerous.

“This man was a tanner, and a drunkard,” said Silver as he exhaled. “He kept me when I was nine, along with a two older boys indentured to him. This man was the most foul, loathsome person I have ever had the misfortune to know, present company included. He assaulted women at the bars each night, regularly beat me and the other boys, burned us with his cigars, threw things at us. Would even threaten to skin us and turn us into boots and belts if we didn’t keep the place spotless. A truly, terrible man.

“But what puzzled me then, and puzzles me to this day, were the older boys. I only had to deal with this man for a few months. They put up with his treatment for _years_. Endured, for no other reason than they did not know any other way to be. The status quo is surely the most evil of mankind’s inventions. Take away a man’s options, and he becomes a useless, frightened, weak shadow of a man. Captain Flint is giving you all an option,” Silver said, looking around the bar. He looked back down. “Except you, Captain Lynch.”

Lynch said nothing, panicked, hands gripping the sides of his chair like he was deciding on which foolish move he should make next.

Before he could make his next mistake, Silver said, “I’m not going to kill you, Captain Lynch. I’m not even going to cut out your tongue, which is really what would be just. Would you like to know why?”

After a moment Lynch nodded slightly, eyes widened, throat working heavily.

“Because dead men tell no tales, Captain Lynch,” said Silver. “And there’s still something I’d like you to see.”

Silver quickly grabbed the back of Lynch’s hair, tilted his head back, and in one motion, jammed the burning cigar into Lynch’s right eye.

The scream Lynch let out was a beautiful thing, the sound like that of a wild rabbit caught in a deadly snare. He bucked in the chair, trying to escape but Silver held him firmly with one hand, the other twisting the cigar as deep as he could get it without actually killing him.

All at once he let go, leaving the still-smoldering cigar in Lynch’s eye socket, and took a step back. Lynch fell to the floor, but still seemed to have some sense about him, because he noticed how close he was to Silver’s iron leg and scrambled backwards to the nearest support pillar, still screaming.

There was a moment of calm, Silver panting heavily. He felt just like he did the first time his leg fell down on the soft, vulnerable tissue of Dufresne’s fucking face. His body was singing. He felt good.

Then all hell broke loose, as Lynch’s men startled into action a second too late. The last time he’d gone into town that had resulted in carnage, it had been much later into the night, and the witnesses had been a lot drunker. These men, however, were at the exact wrong level of drunkenness, emboldened by the slight against their shit of a captain and too stupid to listen to reason.

Swords were drawn, only by the handful of Lynch’s men and Silver’s men, and Silver was just able to raise his own to stop a blow at the last second. Not everyone in the bar had moved to fight. He heard screams, furniture falling, and the man coming at him was blotchy and full of rage, swinging his sword like a club.

Christ. They hadn’t really given a lot of thought to this scenario. They were hoping to _recruit_ these men, not murder them. Everything had rested on Silver’s ability to sway these men, and as he blocked another sloppy attack, he wasn’t sure how successful he’d been. He’d left the bastard alive, what else did they want from him?

Silver’s footwork was rough at the best of times, and he kept having to back up against the man’s drunken onslaught until his back was against Lynch’s table. Suddenly, the sword, which had been repeatedly striking from above went low, caught him at the side, and Silver spun with the force of it, facing away from him. He gritted his teeth, but it’d been a glancing blow, barely stung. He turned just as his opponent had his blade raised for one last blow, and Silver ran him through.

At the same moment, a gunshot echoed in the tavern and movement ceased. The man on the end of Silver’s sword now had a hole in the side of his head to match the one in his stomach. Silver stared at it, confused, before looking over.

Flint stood in the center of the room, wig thankfully gone, gun fixed at Silver’s former adversary. But his eyes were locked on Silver, his expression hard and unreadable.

Silver took a deep breath, broke eye contact with his Captain, and pushed the man off his sword and onto the floor. A quick glance told him that his attacker was the only dead man. That was pretty good, for them. This could still be salvaged, providing the man they’d just killed wasn’t intensely well-liked.

All eyes in the tavern were trained on Flint as he holstered his pistol. Everyone, including Lynch’s crew, stared at Flint with varying degrees of fear and respect, and awe. Flint just looked at Silver, like he was waiting for his cue.

Slowly, Silver approached Lynch, who was still slumped on the ground, moaning. He left his sword out, let the blood shine dully in the candlelight. He didn’t crouch down because of his leg, but trusted that Lynch was listening anyway.

“This is what I wanted you to see, Captain Lynch,” said Silver, and he looked over at Flint. “Your men know when to listen to a _real_ captain. They know instinctively when they’re in the presence of real power, and to fall in line behind it. So you can keep telling your little stories, sir. I’ve got a better one.”

\----

They’re a few alleys away from the tavern when they hear loud footsteps from the street, multiple raised voices, and alarms starting to sound. Coincidentally, the adrenaline coursing through Silver had started to wear off, and the small sting over his ribs now became a steady, painful throb.

“Okay, ow,” said Silver. He tried to lean against the wall, but Flint was in the way. So, he made do.

“Are you bleeding on me?” said Flint in a hushed voice.

“Probably,” said Silver. “Did you lose the wig? Max is going to be extremely upset with us.”

“She’ll have to get in fucking line.”

They make their way to the horses. Silver is _not_ clinging to anyone. Just as they’re about to mount, they hear angry voices coming their way.

“Hide here for a moment,” Billy said, knocking Flint and Silver lightly back into the shadows. “We’ll lead them in the opposite direction.”

“Take an additional horse,” said Flint. “I don’t trust this one to not fall on his face like this.”

“Be careful,” Silver added, because Flint wouldn’t.

After they’d gone, they waited five more minutes in the dark to hear if anyone was about to approach. Flint fixed his stare on the end of the alleyway while Silver leaned against the wall and breathed as shallowly as possible to avoid pulling at his side. They stood closer than they probably needed to, and Silver looked up at the sky. Clouds had gathered over Nassau, not quite heavy with rain, but light enough to make everything gray and muted.

“Let’s go,” Flint said finally, and pulled him towards the remaining horse. Flint helped him up, and Silver tried to focus on the pain in his side instead of the blow to his ego as Flint saddled behind him.

"Just when I was starting to develop some authority of my own,” Silver muttered.

Flint’s whole body was pressed perfectly against his, his thighs nestled warmly against Silver’s. His breath was hot in Silver’s ear as he whispered, “All right?”

Silver swallowed. “I think I’m bleeding on you again.” What a night.

Flint huffed, taking hold of the reins. His arms brushed against Silver’s waist. “Keep hold.”

Silver always thought himself a single wave, out in the middle of the sea. He’d been out there by himself all these years -- sometimes rising up in fearsome storms, sometimes becalmed with no purpose, ebbing and flowing endlessly. But now he was finding himself edging closer to the long, golden, rocky shore that was Captain James Flint. He knew at any moment he was going to find himself crashing down on that shore, pulled to it by the fates or the moon or God, and for a while he’d felt helpless, thinking about it. Recently, however, he couldn’t help but anticipate that moment of impact - the intense collide when they became one. He found himself yearning for it.  

He leaned back into Flint, felt his heartbeat through his chest as if it were his own.

\----

They waited a few moments on the outskirts of Flint’s property to make sure it was empty before they approached. Flint slid off the horse first and helped Silver down. His hand lingered on Silver’s elbow for a moment before drifting away.

“I thought we were heading back to the ship,” he said.

“We are,” Flint said, making his way inside. “I want to get you patched up before we sail out. Won’t be long. Billy knows to wait.”

“Doesn’t Miss Guthrie know about this place?” Silver sat down at the table, his left leg spread out widely to take the strain off his stump.

Flint stared at him for a moment, lost in thought. Then he said, “Take off your shirt,” and went into the other room.

Silver rolled his eyes, but did as asked. He let his jacket fall over the back of his chair and gently eased the shirt off, finally getting a look at the gash just above his ribs. It really was just a glancing blow, but one that’ll scar for sure, and could easily get infected if he didn’t wash it. He let the torn shirt fall to the floor just as Flint came back in with a bowl, some clean cloths, and bandages.

“Sit up,” he said roughly. He pulled a chair up next to him and grabbed a soft cloth from the pile. “Sorry, we don’t have time right now to warm this up.”

“It’s fine,” said Silver. He was about to suggest that he was perfectly capable of washing his own blood off, but then Flint started to gently wipe his side down, and who was he to argue with his Captain when he’d set his mind into doing something?

Okay, that may actually be the very definition of his job. But unlike some people, Silver knew how to pick and choose his battles.

“They won’t want to alert Eleanor or the Governor right away,” said Flint, keeping his eyes trained on Silver’s wound, making sure he didn’t rub the cloth too harshly near the edges of the cut. “We walked right into their town, both of us, created havoc, and disappeared without a trace. They’ll want to search for themselves first, hoping to avoid going back to him with the news of our easy escape. Of course, if they went to Eleanor right away she’d be able to point them right to us, but the Governor’s men haven’t been on this island long enough to show her any kind of the respect she’s due. It wouldn’t even occur to them to ask.”

“You hope,” said Silver.

Now Flint looked him in the eye. “It’s quiet,” said Flint. “We’ll hear someone approach. And this won’t take long.”

Silver exhaled deeply, and the hands resting on his chest rose and fell with him.

They stayed silent, listening for intruders while Flint finished washing his side, until the water in the bowl was a rosey pink, and Silver was cleaner than he’d honestly been in awhile. Then Flint picked up another cloth and set about drying him, and he really should stop him. Any moment now, he’d be stopping this.

“You haven’t mentioned,” said Silver, feeling too loud in the stillness of Flint’s old home. “What did you think of my performance? Was I appropriately menacing?”

“It was --” Flint cleared his throat, his hands busy wiping the moisture from Silver’s body, “--good. I think you made your point exceptionally well.” It was warm in the house, true, but Silver thought Flint looked a bit more flushed than he had a moment ago.

Silver smirked. “Really?”

“Well,” said Flint, looking up at him with a small smile of his own, “the cigar might have made the bigger point.”

By the time Silver was completely dry, the cut above his ribs had stopped bleeding and was just a dull ache. In comparison to the constant pain he experienced daily, it was next to nothing.

“Lean forward,” Flint said softly, and Silver did. He wrapped the white bandages around his chest a few times. Every time he reached around to get at the back was like pulling Silver into a hug, and whenever he leaned back again Silver was left feeling cold and confused. Should he be doing something with his hands? They felt in the way and he kind of wanted to put them on Flint’s shoulders, but that seemed a step too far. Too close to his neck, and from there he might as well be touching his head or his lips, and why should he be touching Flint’s lips with his hands when he had so many better body parts to be touching Flint with there? So he let them sit limply on his thighs while Flint continued to work.

“Was that story true?” Flint said suddenly. “The tanner in Bristol. Was that bullshit?”

“Oh,” said Silver. “Um. Yes. I mean, yes it’s true.”

“Oh,” Flint echoed. He was tying the bandage now, at the soft spot below his armpit. Silver tried not to flinch. Flint never, _ever_ , needed to know John Silver was ticklish. “What happened to him?”

Sometimes, when people asked Silver a question he didn’t want to answer, he would just ignore it cryptically and more often than not something would happen to distract the inquiring person, or he’d direct the conversation the way he’d want to it to go and the person would forget they ever asked. But they existed in this room like they were the last two people left on Earth, alone together as the candlesticks grew shorter and the night went on, indefinite. And Silver couldn’t think of anything else to say.

“I don’t talk about my past much for a reason, Captain,” he said finally. “That one’s not a particularly nice story.”

“You know the most intimate thing about me, and I don’t know anything about you,” said Flint. He was done with the bandage, but they stayed leaning towards one another, like conspirators. “That didn’t use to bother me all that much, but it recent days it has been pressing on my mind. I think I would like to know you, Silver.”

Silver fought with it for a moment before sighing deeply, weakened by the admission. People have said that to him before, but not with the kind of sincerity Flint was showing. Not without looking for something to use against him.

“He beat us, like I said,” said Silver, with a one-sided shrug. He looked down, and his eyes were drawn, as they usually wore, to the iron peg at the end of his knee. He hadn’t felt it, but Flint’s foot was pressed right against it. “Whipped us, burned us. Threw rocks at us. And the days when one of the other two boys got it worse than I did, they’d usually take it out me. I started to keep this shard of glass pane I’d found under my pillow while I slept. I’d wrapped the end of it in cloth I’d found so I could hold it in my sleep. I slipped once, woke up with a pretty big gash. You can still the scar, look.”

Silver raised his palm to show the small cut on the webbing below his thumb. Flint grabbed his hand to steady it so he could look better and then. Kept holding it. Silver could easily end this story with just most of the truth coming out. It wouldn’t take much to omit and it would probably be better for both of them. But Flint held his hand loosely and it was like the entire world had shifted to one side, leaving Flint and Silver and their joined hands in another universe entirely. It was a universe where Silver was, apparently, completely honest. A foreign and unlikely universe.

“He was a known pervert,” he said, watching Flint’s fingers trailing lightly on his thumb. His breath felt tight. “There were several complaints from local women to unwanted advances he made. And….rumors, of unspeakable vileness and depravity, especially towards….children in the neighborhood. Children in his care. Nothing proven, of course.”

The fingers on Silver’s hand stilled, but didn’t let go. He looked out the corner of his eye for a second before looking back down, but he caught Flint’s clenched jaw, his eyes boring into the side of Silver’s face.

“I was….very slight for my age,” continued Silver, “and my hair has always been long. I guess I looked. I don’t know. I don’t know what he thought, to be honest. If he really cared I wasn’t... I don’t know why he picked the night he did. It was just a random night, nothing particularly special had happened beforehand. But I was in bed, asleep, and I awoke when he sat on my cot and put his hand on me. He started...stroking my back lightly, just up and down, touching my neck all the way to….the lowest point on my back.”

And then Silver said this, which he never let himself even think about: “It was the first time in my life I’d ever been touched softly. That I can remember, anyway. So I almost. Stayed still. I almost let it....”

Silver’s eyes had fallen shut, but they flew open as Flint’s fingers started moving against his hand again.

“But you didn’t,” Flint said, his voice a much quieter version of the one Silver had heard in the past, right before Flint ended up killing someone in a particularly nasty way.

“He _burped_ ,” said Silver with a small laugh. “Not like this great belch, but this hiccup-y burp and suddenly the room smelled strongly of ale and his dinner, and I don’t really remember making the decision but one moment he was burping, and the next his throat was slit ear to ear. There was no way to hide what I’d done, no one to help me. So I left the piece of glass inside him while he bled out, and ten minutes later I had washed up, changed, taken his money and left. Haven’t been back to Bristol since.”

They sat in silence again. Silver could see Flint’s other hand, the one not grasping his, clenching uselessly at his side. The desire to punch someone when it was impossible to do so was one of the most frustrating feelings in the world, Silver knew.

“That,” said Flint, “is a terrible story.”

Silver was startled into laughing, leaning back a little in his chair. “I told you!”

“Truly, one of the worst stories I’ve ever heard you tell. And I’ve heard you tell multiple stories about one of my crewmembers fucking our dairy goat.”

Flint still looked pissed, but in a soft way. It took Silver a moment to realize that’s what it looked like when someone was angry _for_ him, not _at_ him. It was marvelous.

“Me, you, and the dairy goat,” said Silver. “The most tragic figures ever to sail the high seas.”

They looked into each other’s eyes. Silver felt strange after unloading in a manner in which he’d never done before. That story  -- just one anecdote in his lifetime filled with plenty of other miseries, pleasures, and weirdness. Looking back, maybe that moment was the start of something, and this knowledge churned painfully inside him. He’d made it a point to take control of his own actions the instant he’d grabbed that blade of glass. He saw no reason to stop now. His life was made of moments and they were always potentially starting something.

“So that’s one more thing you know about me,” said Silver. “Secretly a sad bastard who can make a deadly weapon out of just about anything.” And with his free hand he reached out and cupped Flint’s cheek.

The angry expression on Flint’s face slipped away immediately, replaced with a beautiful collection of confusion and longing. Both sentiments only intensified as Silver dragged him closer to him, and stopped.

“We shouldn’t,” Flint said against his lips, pained. “Not now. We haven’t the time. The Royal Guard could be on us any second.”

“We’re pirates, Captain,” said Silver. “We’re supposed to live dangerously.” And he kissed him. For a man who prided himself on usually taking the easy way out, he found this  was probably the easiest thing Silver had ever done in his life.

For all his earlier hesitation, Flint responded eagerly. His hands found their way into Silver’s hair, nibbling softly at his lips until they opened for him with a gasp. He pushed Silver back into the chair and was just about ready to climb into his lap until Silver groaned with pain at his side. Flint pulled back immediately, would probably have been on the other side of the room if Silver hadn’t grabbed him by the wrist.

“Come back here,” Silver whined, trying to tug him closer.

Flint refused to move. “You’re hurt.”

“Yeah, I’m hurting really bad, baby, come on - ow!” He let go of Flint’s wrist to rub his nose, which Flint just flicked.

They glared at each other but without heat. Flint looked like he was wrestling with something, and whatever it was he had to decide for himself, so Silver let his leg widen further in his chair, let his hair hanging over his shoulders and down his chest do the talking for him.

“You have to keep still,” Flint argued, as though Silver had made his point out loud. “I won’t have you reopening your wound.”

“Of course,” said Silver.

“And we have to be quick,” said Flint.

“Not a problem,” Silver said honestly.

“And we can always continue on the ship later.”

“We better.”

“So let me take care of you.”

The words should have been like a cold splash of water, the way they’d been in the past, but Flint said it while falling to his knees between Silver’s legs, and Silver felt only heat -- unimaginable warmth reaching every nerve in his body at the sight.

Silver bent forward and kissed him. It was their second kiss but it felt like they’d been doing this forever, felt so natural to rub his hands over the back of Flint’s head as he moved lower, attaching his lips to Silver’s nipple.

He jerked forward a little with a groan, but didn’t feel any pain in his side. Flint must not have believed it so his gripped both hands around Silver’s waist and held him there against the chair, which only made Silver moan louder.

“I loved watching you tonight,” Flint said into his skin as his mouth trailed lower, passed the bandages until he was kissing wetly against Silver’s lower stomach. “So fucking good out there.”

The words went right to his cock, and he felt dizzy with them. He had one hand on Flint’s shoulder, the other on top of his head, and held on, desperate for something he couldn’t describe.

Flint must have seen it on his face, because he kept talking. “Everyone watching you in that tavern, hanging on your every word, terrified what you were going to do next.” He moved lower, began nuzzling Silver’s hard cock through his trousers, began sucking him through them until they were soaked and Silver was very glad they decided early on this would be quick. “Everyone in that room knew you were fucking _mine._ You looked so goddamned beautiful.”

“ _Captain_ ,” Silver keened, practically bowed over Flint. “ _Please_.”

Flint let go of Silver’s waist to tug Silver’s pants gently down, mindful of his leg, and unceremoniously went to work. He sucked at the head quickly, licking a long stripe down the heavy vein underneath, took one of his balls in his mouth and moaned. His hands had to quickly go back to holding Silver by the hips to keep him still, as he bucked and cried out, completely unconcerned with his injuries.

Flint took him fully into his mouth. The noises coming out of his mouth were obscene, loud and wet as his tongue moved like a wave around his cock. Silver had no notion how to stop his hips from jerking forward but they barely moved with the weight of Flint holding him down.

“Keep still,” Flint pulled off to mutter, voice rough, and gave Silver a moment to gather himself before he could. “Good boy,” Flint said, and the response was instantaneous. Silver’s cock started leaking uncontrollably and Silver groaned a long “ _fuck!_ ”, nails digging into the back of Flint’s head.

Flint, an intelligent man, noticed the reaction immediately. After a second of hesitation, he began to rub his face against Silver’s cock, brushing his beard harshly against the inside of his thighs, layering him with kisses, and saying over and over, “You’re so good. You’re so _good_ , John, so good for me. You did so well tonight, you were so _beautiful_.”

Silver’s moans were long, loud, beyond any comprehensible words. His eyes felt wet and his cock was dribbling all over Flint’s face. He’d never known anything to feel as good as this, and when he realized Flint was there on his knees, one hand furiously working his cock inside his own trousers, he was pretty sure nothing could ever feel this good again.

Until Flint looked up at him with heavy-lidded eyes, rubbed the head of Silver’s straining cock against his lips, and said, “You’re _perfect_ ,” and Silver’s mind whited out for a moment as he came all over Flint’s mouth and face.

Silver returned to himself just as Flint spilled into his hand with a loud groan, biting softly into the crease of Silver’s thigh. His face was a mess, but he didn’t seem bothered by it. He rested his face against the side of Silver’s leg and breathed heavily into his skin. Silver had thought he knew his Captain’s face -- messy with his own blood, messy with someone else’s blood, full of rage, wracked with despair, gone with longing, starving and desperate, fed up and alone, tormented by nightmares in uneasy sleep. In that moment, Silver realized he would gladly kill a hundred men, stomp out a thousand eyes, burn Nassau to the ground, if it would keep forever this look of unguarded peace.

Shakily, Silver grabbed one of the unused cloths still sitting on the table. Silently, he put his fingers under Flint’s chin and lifted it up towards him. Flint kept his eyes closed as Silver gently wiped his face clean.

With eyes still closed, Flint said, “We’d better made a move for it if we want to beat that storm.” So Silver finally let go of him and let him stand. He picked up the bowl of dirty water and cloths and disappeared from the room.

Silver stayed sitting in his chair, tucking himself back into his breeches. He mentally tried to plot the events of the evening to understand how the hell he ended up here, so he could make sure it happened again in the near future. What a fucking night.

Flint returned quickly, wearing new trousers and holding out a new shirt and jacket. Silver slid both on, watching Flint watching him do it. The shirt smelled like this home, like old flowers and sawdust. He left his torn, bloody clothes on the floor. He didn’t think they’d be able to return to this house any time soon.

“I meant it before,” Flint said. “You were perfect tonight. I admit, I was slightly skeptical about all this when Billy first explained it. I was afraid the dynamic he was forcing on us would result in one of us edging out the other. But I think you were right, before. We are better, _stronger_ , as partners in all this.”

Silver smiled, walking over to him. He saw that Flint had a few books stacked under his arm to bring with. Clearly, he was not expecting to be back here any time soon either.

“Strange pairs,” said Silver, “and all that.”

Flint smiled too, and while it was a sad smile, it may not have been as sad as it once was. “Exactly. I’ve been told in the past that I tend to be belligerently optimistic towards my more wildly reckless plans, but what you did tonight. I now think God himself would have to come down from on high to stop us.”

That was the most belligerently optimistic thing he’d ever heard, and Silver felt the overwhelming impulse to crowd him and kiss him senseless, and even though the door was open and they were exposed to the world, Silver had yet to meet an impulse he could just ignore.

“Good thing, then,” said Silver breathlessly a moment later, a little in love with the stupid look on Flint’s face. “I’ve got plenty to say to the Man, if He ever showed His face around here.”

He’d walked out the door, down the steps, and had already mounted the horse alone by the time Flint came back to his senses and followed. The storm still flashed in the distance over the Atlantic, but it was heading towards land, and the waves beat steadily on Nassau’s darkened shores.

* * *

 


End file.
